‘I know all about it,’ she said hastily; ‘and those are the grounds of my refusal. You and Owen know the whole truth—the two I love best on earth—and I am content. But the scandal will be continually repeated, and I can never give any one the opportunity of saying to you—that—your wife....’ She utterly broke down and wept.
‘Don’t, my own darling!’ he entreated. ‘Don’t, Cytherea!’
‘Please to leave me—we will be friends, Edward—but don’t press me—my mind is made up—I cannot—I will not marry you or any man under the present ambiguous circumstances—never will I—I have said it: never!’
They were both silent. He listlessly regarded the illuminated blackness overhead, where long flakes of soot floated from the sides and bars of the chimney-throat like tattered banners in ancient aisles; whilst through the square opening in the midst one or two bright stars looked down upon them from the grey March sky. The sight seemed to cheer him.
‘At any rate you will love me?’ he murmured to her.
‘Yes—always—for ever and for ever!’
He kissed her once, twice, three times, and arose to his feet, slowly withdrawing himself from her side towards the door. Cytherea remained with her gaze fixed on the fire. Edward went out grieving, but hope was not extinguished even now.
He smelt the fragrance of a cigar, and immediately afterwards saw a small red star of fire against the darkness of the hedge. Graye was pacing up and down the lane, smoking as he walked. Springrove told him the result of the interview.
‘You are a good fellow, Edward,’ he said; ‘but I think my sister is right.’
‘I wish you would believe Manston a villain, as I do,’ said Springrove.